


With such devotion

by ararelitus



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Light Angst, M/M, Victorian hair care routines, dealing with being Victorian, francis helps james with his hair routine thats it thats the fic, post arctic, some historical liberties taken for the drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:41:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22231954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ararelitus/pseuds/ararelitus
Summary: “I need to wash my hair, Francis,” James said. He turned his head slightly away from the mirror, turned further away from Francis now than before. “Are you-” he looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “just going to watch me?”“Why, yes. Unless I can help somehow.” Francis studied the confusion on James face.How can I help? What can I do? Oh - did you mean you want me to leave?~~~Or: The one in which James dyes his hair and Francis helps
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 20
Kudos: 67
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	With such devotion

**Author's Note:**

> for The Terror Bingo prompt "brush"

Francis stood outside the bedroom door, his finger dancing around the handle, wondering if he should open it.

It was part way open already, Francis wasn’t sure if that was meant as an invitation. He waited there - half in, half out - contemplating entering what was his bedroom too. 

Last week James welcomed Francis into his bed and told him they should share, do away with separate bedrooms, they spent their nights in on or the other bed anyway. “ _ It’s only logical, _ ” James said. 

Francis didn’t want to sit in the foyer anymore awaiting James to ascend the stairs in his nightgown, pause and toss a lock of his hair back before clearing his throat - as if Francis wasn’t paying attention already, and James would beckon to Francis, formally inviting him into James’ bed. 

Francis didn’t mind the display -  _ no, not at all -  _ but he figured they would be beyond all that. Yet here he was, frozen in the space between rooms. 

Out on the ice everything was simple, no luxury of privacy, no personal space. But back in London this was a precarious dance, and Francis didn’t know the steps. This dance where the music stopped, no tune for Francis to try and follow, and the sound of James’ breath too far away. Now he was waiting for James to realize that Francis was stepping on his toes. 

It was these charged moments of peace that had Francis at a loss. When nothing was required, how was he to simply exist?

“Francis, how long do you intend to stand there?” James asked, “Are you in or out?”

_ What a question.  _ Francis pushed the door open all the way. 

James sat in front of the mirror combing through his hair with a silver brush, the letters “J.F.” elaborately engraved on the back. It was part of the set Francis bought him when they first moved here together. James had patiently indulged Francis as he asked clueless questions so obviously aimed to ask what kind of pieces James wanted. James even acted surprised when he opened the box, but the tears in his eyes then were real.  _ “This is perfect,” _ he’d said and then kissed Francis in excitement.  _ “I love you, Francis.” _

Francis stepped into the warm glow of the bedroom. He walked past James and sat on the bed, meeting James’ gaze through the mirror. James’ eyes peered at him, candlelight illuminating the lines of his cheeks and jaw. 

“I need to wash my hair, Francis,” James said. He turned his head slightly away from the mirror, turned further away from Francis now than before. 

“Alright.”

“Are you-” James looked at him, raising an eyebrow, “just going to watch me?”

“Why, yes. Unless I can help somehow.” He studied the confusion on James face.  _ How can I help? What can I do? Oh - did you mean you want me to leave?  _

“I suppose you could help.” James stood from the chair and reached for several tins of all different shapes.

Francis studied the other items on the table, a few other brushes from the set lay side by side in front of glass vials and jars. James scooped something dark into a bowl, steam rose as he poured water over it. 

“What can I do?” he asked. Although Francis knew there was nothing he could offer, he didn’t know anything about this.  _ I’ve made a mistake. I should just leave. _

“You can mix this while I get the next ingredient,” James said as he offered him the bow and a brush. 

Francis leaned in to give it a sniff. It smelled of hay or the earth, and something else Francis couldn’t place. 

James reached a long arm over and added another powder and drops of some fragrant liquid. 

“What is this?” 

“It’s a mixture of herbs and pigments- these are meant to add a dark tint to the hair.”

“Why do- your hair’s already dark, James.”  _ Or is it? Has James been dying it this whole time and I never knew? _

“Yes, it is. But I’m afraid-” James looked down, parting the surface of the table with his long finger, his right hand tracing the initials on the back of the brush. “My hair is starting to grey. It didn’t used to bother me, but it’s gotten worse since the Arctic-” 

“James, I haven’t even noticed-”

“That’s because I use this. It hides it well enough that it wouldn’t be noticed in most lights. I would hope you wouldn’t-”

“James, you know I’d never look at you any different.” Francis wanted to cast the bowl aside and take James into his arms. 

“Please, Francis,” James’ voice a whisper now. He didn’t look up. “Just let this be. I know it’s vain of me-”

“No, James. Never. I couldn’t care less what you did with your hair, James. You’d look beautiful in silver. But if this matters to you, so be it.”

James finally looked up at him, his eyes bright. 

_ Oh James. When will you realize I will always accept you as you are?  _ “What is it I’m smelling?” Francis asked.

“That would be the rosemary,” James replied. He turned and wiped a tear from his eye, trying to hide it from Francis. 

When Francis buried his face in James’ hair it was intoxicating. All he wanted to do is run his fingers through those luxuriant curls as he kissed James senseless. 

James leaned over and looked at the mixture. “Looks about right. Now, you put it in my hair.” James picked up the dark towel from beside the basin and wrapped it around his shoulders. He sat back down. “Try not to get it on your hands.” James met his eye through the mirror. “You know I’ve never been able to get it very even, perhaps you can finally help me with that.” He leaned his head back towards Francis. 

Francis lifted the brush and stocked the dark paste along the part of James’ hair. Even after everything in the Arctic, this would have to be the strangest thing he’s done with James. He knew nothing of how Sophia did her hair, he was never invited to that aspect of her life. But with James they shared everything, for better or for worse.

“Right. That’s done,” Francis said.

“Now we wait. The mixture needs to set, usually about half an hour,” James said. 

“Christ. You know what I do with my hair, James? A bar of soap, a rinse, and that’s the end of it.”

“I know, dear.” He patted Francis’ hand and moved to stand. 

James took the dark towel and wrapped it around his head. He swung his head forwards and in one smooth motion did  _ something,  _ it happened so quickly Francis couldn’t tell. But when James rose again the towel was neatly wrapped around his head and knitted in place. 

“This is usually when I boil more water,” James said. He continued going about his routine like it was nothing. “I can’t stand washing my hair in cold water anymore.”

Francis watched James, his long fingers closing all the jars and setting them aside, his face focused. James was in command again; James was in control. Francis just watched, mesmerized. 

“Francis?” James turned to face him. “Is something the matter?”

“No James, quite the opposite.” Francis just wanted to walk over and kiss him now. “Shall I go get some water for you?”

“Why don’t we go together, I could use a cup of tea.”

James picked up the pitcher in one hand and the lamp in the other and walked out of the room and down the stairs. Francis just followed. 

James set the kettle over the fire and lit another lamp as Francis slumped into one of the chairs around the small table. 

“I made something earlier, would you like a cup?” James asked, picking up the teapot.

“Yes, thank you, James.” Francis sat in one of the chairs by the small table. 

He watched as James poured the tea. He managed the first cup but his hand shook as he tried for the second, despite James’ best attempts to hide it. Francis reached forward and wrapped his hand around James’ on the handle. 

“It’s all right, James.”

James sighed and set the pot down. He stared down at their intertwined hands. 

There was a moment of understanding that required no words.  _ I’ve got you, James. You don’t have to hide anything with me.  _

A faint smile crossed James’ lips as he looked at Francis. He let go of the pot and pushed the cup towards Francis. 

He pulled his own chair closer to Francis.

“How do you like the tea?” James asked. 

“It’s good.”  _ It’s tea. _

“I tried something different with the blend- I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”

“Oh. No, I do.” Honestly, Francis couldn’t tell. All these teas in London were light and tasted the same. It wasn’t until when James was brewing something truly exotic that Francis would notice. He wished he could actually taste the difference at times like this. 

“You can’t tell the difference between this and the one I made yesterday, can you?”

“I admit, I cannot.”

James smiled and shook his head. 

There would always be things he and James wouldn’t see eye to eye on. He accepted that. But now Francis couldn't stand sitting with James in absolute silence. 

“You know, I miss your stories, James,” Francis said. He set his cup on the table, turning to gaze at James.

James’ smile faded. “I suppose they all feel rather trivial now. There’s no glory left in anything for me. Besides, haven’t you heard them all by now? ”

“Christ, James. What draws me to them now. What I miss is what infuriated me in the first place, and that is how you tell them.”

“I’m afraid there’s little of that left in me now. I’m no longer trying to impress anyone - I’m at the end of vanity. I left it behind in that place.”

Francis reached to place a hand on James; shoulder. “Perhaps there’s just other stories you need to tell now, James.”

James smiled softly back at him. 

“But please don’t tell me you’re at the end of vanity after what I just did to your hair.”

James laughed and shifted to lean against Francis. 

“You’re right, and perhaps I’m compensating now.”

“Yes, and you’re right to after everything you lived through, You should have every indulgence you please, even if for the life of me will never understand.” 

James reaches his arm around Francis to cling to him.

_ Why did James feel the need to colour his hair?  _ Perhaps it wasn’t Francis’ place to understand, he wasn’t much bothered when his hair began to grey - it was a part of life, like everything else. Nevertheless, a reminder of his own mortality, and that was something James was all too familiar with to have to face in the mirror every day. 

That was too much for both of them really. 

Francis kissed James’ forehead lightly.

“Why did you come to me tonight?” James asked.

“I suppose I found myself asking why I shouldn’t and found no real reason.”  _ Because I couldn’t stand to sit alone without you any longer.  _

“Oh Francis. Perhaps, then, I should have asked why you hesitated.”

“There are things I’m still not used to. I was always going from one expedition to the next or biding my time - or drinking.”  _ Now I just want to spend my time with you. _

“I’m glad you’re doing none of that now. Please Francis, don’t hesitate to come into  _ our  _ bedroom to sit with me. I get lonely without you too.”

_ Why are we doing this James? Why does it all matter now that we’re back?  _ Francis could answer his own questions. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

James reached into the pocket of his dressing gown. Those long, elegant fingers reemerged holding a pocket watch. 

“What you will do now, Francis Crozier, is wash my hair.”

“Will I now?”

“You volunteered, I won’t force you.” James stood and walked over to the kettle and began pouring the water into the pitcher. 

“All right, James.”

“Shall we?” James said, gripping the pitcher.

“Oh James, let me.”

James handed him the pitcher with no objection. He walked to the doorway, the fabric for his dressing gown elegantly swayed behind him. Francis let it lead the way for him like a flag. 

In the bedroom Francis set the pitcher down and looked to James. He was not in command here, and he awaited instruction. 

“Now, darling, you’re going to have to pour it slowly as you wash, the water must run clear, or else I will stain all your shirts,” James grinned.

James undid the towel around his head and let it fall around his shoulder all in one fluid motion. James, always so graceful - no tremor could take that away from him. 

“That’s a lot of pressure to put on me, James,” Francis teased, “I’ll do my best.”

Francis felt entirely out of his element here.  _ Why am I doing this? Why the hell did James let me?  _ It was too late to back out now. 

He dipped his hands into the water to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Francis took a deep breath, and then he poured a bit of water over James’ head.

The water turned a dark brown as it mixed with the water in the basin, and under this light...

Francis froze.

_ No.  _ James was home now, James was safe. He couldn’t be bleeding-

The scent of the rosemary hit him. Francis shook his head as he let the memory fade. 

“Francis, you still there?” James asked 

“Yes, sorry James.”

Francis carefully washed along James’ hairline making sure to avoid James’ face. Francis was enjoying this now. It was an excuse to card his hands through James hair without fear of ruining his curls. He gazed down at James, who had his eyes closed, face relaxed, and lips slightly parted. 

No, this was more than that now, this was something he didn’t even know he’d been craving. Francis always cherished any moment his hands were on James, but now he was being  _ helpful _ . He was once again taking care of James, seeing to his needs, but without the constant worry he had for James’ health back in the Arctic and those first months. 

The water ran clear from James hair in Francis’ hands, and the basin threatened to overflow. 

“I think you’re done,” Francis said. He dreaded the end. 

James reached over and picked up the lighter towel folded neatly on the table. He threw it over his face, casting the one on his shoulders aside. He stood and went to sit on the edge, patting the spot beside him with a smile on his face. 

Francis walked up to him and leaned down to kiss him, running his hands through James’ wet locks. He pulled James’ head back, exposing his neck to plant kisses there. 

Francis wrapped his arms around James and lowered him back on the bed, climbing on top. 

At times Francis was well aware of his age, the way it carried in his knees and back, and the stiffness of his hands on bad days. But his desire for James was like nothing he’d ever felt for anyone else, even in his youth. There was simply no one like James, and Francis wanted to have him, in his arms, and in every way there was. 

Francis grasped at the buttons of James’ nightshirt, pulling it open to kiss his chest. He slid his hand underneath to circle James’ nipple.

James brought his hand to the back of Francis’ head and tugged at his short hair. “Ah- Francis! I still need to braid my hair!”

Francis lifted himself up and stared at James. “Really, James?”

“I won’t have you disrupting my hair routine,” James said, with a smile. He brought his hand up and put a finger over Francis’ lips.

Francis kissed his fingertip. ”Why don’t I help?” he said. 

James looked up at him, raising an eyebrow.

“I know how to braid hair, James.” And he missed it. With Sophia he loved touching her long hair, but he thought he’d spare James that detail. 

“You’re full of surprises, Francis.”

“Not really.”

James frowned. 

Francis rolled away to allow James to stand. James walked over to the table and pulled out several ribbons from one of the drawers. 

“Now you’re going to laugh at how this is going to look.”

Francis sat up on the bed against the headboard. “Well we’ll see about that.” He spread his legs to make room for James. “Come here.”

James slipped off his dressing gown to reveal his nightshirt. He climbed onto the bed with more grace than Francis could have managed. 

James leaned back against him and Francis couldn't help wrapping his arms around him, pulling him in and burying his face in the crook of his neck, and taking a smell of his hair. 

“Francis why don’t we finish with my hair and then we can resume-”

“Right, of course.”

James reached back to part his hair somewhat awkwardly. 

Francis split it into three parts. He pulled the shorter section that would so often fall across James’ face into the center of the braid. James’ hair wasn’t long enough for a full braid, but he made sure to capture the most visible locks. 

It reminded Francis of sailing knots, how the intricate weaving of rope was so vital to keeping a sail aloft and maintaining a ship’s course. Was this what held James steady and pushed him onwards? How different was this whole hair ritual from the keeping of a ship? Only the smell of rosemary in place of salt.

Francis tied the end with a neat bow. It was nothing elaborate but it would do. He was pleased with his work. 

He enjoyed the feel of James’ hair in his hands, this quiet moment with James so close.  _ What if we did this every night,  _ he thought, and then,  _ why can’t we? _

Francis tied the second bow. Knowing his task was done, he leaned in to take his reward, kissing across James’ neck. He pulled at the nightshirt until it fell down James shoulder. Francis kissed him there and let him out of his embrace. 

“So, how do I look?” James said. He turned to face Francis. 

It did look unusual, braids pulling James’ hair away from his face, and silk ribbons on either side. But Francis didn’t laugh, why would he? This was another form of James that he was yet to see, exposed before Francis. 

_ You know I absolutely adore you, James?  _ He wanted to say with his eyes as he looked at James. 

And James seemed to understand, smiling back at him. 

“Why have I never seen you in braids?” Francis asked.

“I’ve tried not to show you. I always go about my hair routine once you’ve gone to bed.”

“Why? I’ve seen you in worse states than this.”

“Perhaps I didn’t want you to see me as any more vain than you do already.”

“James I know you care far more for how you look than I’ve ever bothered to but I know that’s part of who you are. I don’t judge you for it.”

“I usually do rollers rather than braids, and I’m sure you’ll laugh at the sight of that.”

“I’ll get used to it soon enough. I hope I’m braiding it right.”

“It doesn’t really matter, this is more of a precaution anyway, I’ll use the curling iron in the morning.”

_ There’s more? _ “James, I must ask- why do you do all this? I think you take longer over your hair than even some women?”

“I suppose it’s vanity. But it’s also how it all makes me feel - the way you look at me when you see me in the morning, my hair freshly curled.”

“I love the way you look, James you are exquisite, but you don’t have to do all this for me to see you as beautiful.”

“I know, darling.” James shot him a smile.

“Oh, you do?” Francis teased.

“Of course.”

“So, will you let me help you with your hair every week?”

“I wash it twice a week, actually.”

“Oh! Well that changes things-”

“But yes, you may.”

James pushed Francis back on the bed, and moved to straddle him. “All right darling, where were we?” he said, grinning down on Francis. 

Francis pulled him down into another kiss. He wrapped his arms around James, pulling him close and rolling him onto his back. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is brought to you by a conversation with @for_autumn_i_am who brought up the concept of James dying his hair with henna to hide grey and I went: “oh, the angsty possibilities!”  
> This was meant to be a short quick project as I work on my many upcoming long fics but it’s taken me a month to finish!  
> The title is brought to you by my inability to get the word “devotion” out of my head when thinking about these two, but also two things:  
> This one line from persuasion: “A man does not recover from such devotion of the heart to such a woman! He ought not; he does not.”  
> This line from “Never Let Me Go” by Florence and The Machine: “And all this devotion was rushing over me”
> 
> Some historical notes:  
> -Engraved vanity sets were a big deal at the time. Some were silver like this and some painted with flowers and patterns. Here are some examples: https://cdn.imgbin.com/20/21/8/imgbin-victorian-era-hairbrush-sterling-silver-others-grP6F03EhMQqXCMQKzbsKsp7B.jpg  
> https://thevintagecompactshop.com/products/antique-sterling-silver-vanity-set-edwardian-silver-dressing-set  
> Look at this shit… the craftsmanship, the attention to detail and to the aesthetic. Can’t get anything like this nowadays.  
> \- So, Victorians did dye their hair to hide grey hair. Both men and women, actually. Mascara as a product started as something that could be used for mustaches and eyebrows of men long before it became a product for women.  
> -The only colour available for hair dye at the time was black. How was this black colour achieved, you ask? Lead. It was lead. Yep! I decided to save James from any more lead exposure here. Other methods were developed in the 1860s that were slightly less toxic but still not good! But hey, you really gotta respect Victorian’s commitment to (dyeing and) dying for the Aesthetic. *thinks about those beautiful arsenic laced emerald green dresses again*  
> \- The Pre-Raphaelite movement was obsessed with auburn/red hair and would often use henna to achieve this colour. There was a famous Victorian opera star Madame Patti who was known for her auburn hair and using henna as dye in the latter 1800s, essentially bringing it into the market.  
> \- My own experience with henna is that the more you pile it on the darker the colour becomes - closer to a brown tone than a red. It can also be mixed with other pigments (ex. indigo) to achieve a darker brown tone. So I’m just gonna put some hand waving here where James encountered henna used as dye perhaps on his travels and figured he could do this.  
> \- Pale skin and dark hair was actually the fashion ideal of the time, so good for you James.  
> \- Rosemary was commonly used in hair rinses. Eggs were often used as a sort of mask, just slap some egg-water-herb mix in your hair and let it set for a few hours. I have actually tried this shit, and let me just say that every day I thank whatever deity is responsible for conditioner. But I’ve had worse things in my hair, so *shrug*.  
> \- Curling was done by heating up a curling iron over a fire or a lamp, some had special warmer stands. The curls were also sometimes done through paper to avoid burning. I like to hope James was really good at this, or used curlers. (Curlers were often made of rags and were used by rolling up the hair before bed.) The lack of heat protector makes me want to cry.


End file.
